He walked in silence to one side of and just behind Qui-Gon, as was customary in public. He often found himself grateful for Qui-Gon's insistance on this formality. On this occasion, as on many others, it gave him much-needed time to think. Now his thoughts refused to leave the events aboard the Zenith. He had always prided himself on his alertness and on his awareness of his surroundings in all circumstances - in many situations that was a matter of survival. To lose himself so completely in meditation - not just for minutes but for hours - that was a grave concern. While Qui-Gon seemed willing to dismiss it, he was not.

He was still deciding what course of action to take - to wait and see if the event repeated itself, to ask his Master to undertake a guided meditation with him, to go to the healers, to approach Yoda with the problem - when a tug at his robe interrupted his train of thought. He half-turned to find two glittering, compound eyes gazing unblinkingly up at him. One of the black-furred insectoids stood before him. Clasped in one of its four forelegs was a white, fleshy flower of a type he did not recognise.

The creature spoke in a series of high-pitched chitters. The translator it wore turned the words into strangled and barely distinguishable basic. 'A flower, Jedi?'

It was not unusual for Jedi to be offered small gifts, and to refuse often gave offence. 'My thanks,' Obi-Wan said, as he had done many times before. He took the flower and bowed. 'May the Force be with you.'

Usually that was the end of the matter. On this occasion that did not seem to be the case. The small insectoid, and several passers-by, were looking up at him expectantly.
  
Qui-Gon came to his rescue. 'It's a free sample. You're supposed to eat it, Padawan.'

'Oh,' Obi-Wan said. He thought fast. 'It looks, uh, delicious, but I've just had breakfast.' He bowed once more to the diminutive insectoid. 'I'll save it for lunch.'

Another series of chitters; the creature was already turning away, seeking other potential customers. 'We hope you enjoy, Jedi. Remember House of Bak'a'See. A flower, Twi'lek lady?'

'That was diplomatically handled, Padawan,' Qui-Gon observed as they walked away. 'Although there are enough human tourists here that the flower is probably edible.'

'I think I'd prefer not to risk it, Master,' Obi-Wan said in dry tones. He tucked the white bloom into his tunic.

'Really? It's unlike you to refuse food, Padawan,' Qui-Gon noted, with some amusement.

Obi-Wan chose not to answer that. In truth he was grateful for Qui-Gon's teasing. Losing more than two hours in meditation on the Zenith had added to the unease he had felt for most of the morning. Their customary banter served to ground and reassure him.

'This reminds of a new Master Yoda story I heard in the dining hall,' he ventured.

Qui-Gon inclined his head. 'Go on, Padawan.'

Obi-Wan had a keen sense of what was appropriate in public - a covert glance around told him that nobody was paying them any particular attention. He searched his memory. 'Master Yoda walked into a spaceport bar and ordered two hama-sagaru rolls with red sauce and tea to go,' he began. The stallkeeper was nervous about having a Jedi Council member in his bar and so he tried to make conversation. "That will be 25 dactaris," he said. "You know, we don't get many Jedi Masters in here." And Master Yoda gave him a long look and said...'

'"...at these prices, surprised I am not,"' Qui-Gon completed, deadpan. 'Obi-Wan, that story has been told about half the Jedi Masters who ever took a Padawan. It was probably ancient before the Order was born.'

'I've never heard it before, Master,' Obi-Wan said, a little crestfallen. Other than his close friends, people rarely told him jokes. He supposed he seemed too serious. 'I thought it was amusing.'

'So did Master Yoda, the first time I told it to him,' Qui-Gon mused. 'I must have been about six or seven at the time.'

'You told Master Yoda?' Obi-Wan asked, raising an eyebrow. 'Wasn't he offended?'

Qui-Gon gave a snort. It was a very dignified snort, but it was a snort nonetheless. 'It takes a very great deal to offend Master Yoda. I wouldn't be surprised if he started most of the stories himself. Stories form an important part of our Temple traditions. I suppose one day there may even be Qui-Gon Jinn stories.'

Obi-Wan gave him a slightly disbelieving look. 'Master, there are already many Qui-Gon Jinn stories.'

Qui-Gon glanced at him with a slight frown. 'Padawan, I cannot remember a single incident...'

'The Deneban Spitting Lizard?' Obi-Wan suggested dryly.

'Oh.' Qui-Gon cleared his throat. 'And may I ask how that particular story came to be in general circulation, Padawan?'

Obi-Wan closed his eyes briefly. 'I was so upset about it that I went straight to Bant. She thought it was the funniest thing she'd ever heard. She must have told everyone she knew.'

Qui-Gon digested that. 'I suppose it did have its amusing side,' he admitted amiably.

'You brought back yet another ill-tempered stray without consulting me and I ended up apologising to you about it,' Obi-Wan said, rather irritably. 'I'm still not sure how you managed that.'

'My poor Padawan,' Qui-Gon said, with more amusement than sympathy. 'I had no idea you felt so strongly.'

'I would have thought my threatening to move in with Reeft would have been some indication,' Obi-Wan said pointedly.

'That was actually quite a relief,' Qui-Gon remarked, rather insensitively, in Obi-Wan's opinion. 'After Melida/Daan you were trying so hard to be the perfect Padawan I'd started to despair of you ever standing up for yourself again.'

Obi-Wan glanced at him suspiciously. 'Master, did you make up that whole story about moving the lizard in with us just so I'd threaten to move out?'

'That is a question probably best left unanswered, Padawan,' Qui-Gon observed serenely.

'Thought so,' Obi-Wan muttered under his breath. They paused beside a shop which had windows stacked high with jars of faintly glowing nectars, each with a hand-drawn picture of a plant or flower beside it. He checked the readout on his data-pad. 'This is the correct location, Master, but we are on the three hundred and sixty third city level. The eighth level is at least a mile below us.'

'I'm aware of that, Padawan,' Qui-Gon informed him mildly.

Obi-Wan gritted his teeth. 'So how do you suggest we get down there?' he asked patiently.

Qui-Gon gave him the look he reserved for the times he considered his Padawan was being more than usually obtuse. 'Unless you want to jump or climb down, Padawan, I suggest we find an elevator.'

Most of the elevators nearby were public and only traversed the few levels of the markets. It took them several minutes to find a service elevator on one of the outer walls, where the cool gloom gave way to sunlight on a rubbish-scattered balcony. The elevator was little more than a bare platform surrounded by a metal cage, but nonetheless the sign beside it indicated that it descended all the way to the level they sought. It seemed little used, but was unlocked.

They boarded, and Qui-Gon keyed the level they needed. It took a few moments before they began to move, but it soon picked up speed as they descended through level after level. It was not long before the elevator left the sunlight behind and entered the eternal gloom of the lower city. There were no windows here, not when the only views were of more grey metal. Lit service tunnel entrances were the only break in the dull monotony of the walls that rose around them. Droidcars and corporate shuttles descended past them from the traffic lanes high above to vanish into the depths far below.

After they had been descending for some time, Obi-Wan looked up. At this depth the tiny square of sky that remained above them was so dark that he could see the stars. But then the platform they stood on passed under the last and poorest of the habitation levels and there was no more view of the sky. The darkness closed in on them - dull orange service lights set into the wall they travelled down were the only local source of illumination. A little group of tiny, spherical courier droids whined past and disappeared into the echoing darkness almost before there had been time to register their presence. It grew cool, then cold.

Eventually the walls grew closer around them and became a shaft, closed in around them to the width of the platform. Obi-Wan sensed his Master's dislike of this place, although Qui-Gon stood stoically enough, with his arms folded into the sleeves of his robe. 'Master, will you tell me the story of the three-eyed cat?' he asked.

Qui-Gon looked up, surprised from his thoughts. They had not spoken in several minutes, and the events of the morning seemed a very long way off. 'Do you want to hear it now, Padawan?'

'Yes, my Master,' Obi-Wan said, bowing his head slightly. He could not articulate why he needed the small comfort of Qui-Gon telling him this story. It was, after all, something he should have long ago outgrown.

But Qui-Gon seemed to understand. 'As you wish, Padawan,' he said. His voice took on the familiar cadences that Obi-Wan remembered from the creche. 'The mission was one of my first as a knight. It involved a water dispute between two tribes on a remote moon on the Sereni Rim. The two tribes involved were camped on the sacred meeting grounds deep in the forests that separated their grazing lands. After two or three days it became obvious that the tribal priests were the sticking point.'

The sides of the elevator shaft changed from metal to something hard and black that looked like wet stone. Lights were set only infrequently into the sides now, and for several seconds at a time they were plunged into almost complete darkness.

Qui-Gon seemed not to notice. 'I was told that the Gods disapproved of everything I could suggest to end the crisis. After the first full day of negotiations it become obvious that nothing I could say or do was going to be acceptable. My mission was going to be a failure.'

'I returned my tent, feeling fairly sorry for myself, and there was the three-eyed cat, sitting on the bed, grooming her fur. I recognised her at once and the strange thing was that she also seemed to recognise me. A supper had been left for me and I shared it with her. Fortunately it was fish, which she seemed to be very fond of.'

Hen smiled at the memory. 'Over the next day or so she ate with me and slept on my bed. On the fourth or fifth day she actually followed me into the negotiations and jumped onto my lap as I took my place on the carpets. I rather absent-mindedly scratched her ears for a bit and she settled down and fell asleep. It was then I was informed not only that her species was considered wild and completely unapproachable, but also that her fangs contained a lethal venom which was invariably deadly to humans.'

'Her appearance must have disrupted the proceedings, Master' Obi-Wan ventured.

Qui-Gon shook his head. 'Not at all. I believe the tribal chiefs saw it as a sign that I was favoured and protected by the Gods. My advice was taken and the dispute was settled by the end of the day. It turned out to be one of the most painless missions I've ever been sent on.'

Obi-Wan fought to keep the disapproval out of his voice. 'But you could have been killed, Master.'

'I sensed no danger from her,' Qui-Gon disagreed. 'In fact she caught several poisonous snakes in my tent during my stay. It's likely they were placed there deliberately. Certainly several previous negotiators did not survive.'

'Oh,' Obi-Wan said. There was little else he could think of to say.

'That was the start of my career as a negotiator,' Qui-Gon continued. 'The Council decided that it wouldn't hurt to try me out on some of their other lost causes. I have to admit I was disappointed by their decision. What I really wanted to do was go to the Outer Rim and chase slavers.'

The elevator had started to slow, and the blackness ended abruptly as the openings to several lit but deserted access tunnels flashed past. Finally, with a squeal of stressed metal, they slowed to a halt. The tunnel that faced them was seemingly as deserted as they others they had passed. The only thing that distinguished it was the number eight stencilled onto the metal wall in flaking paint. They had arrived.